Love Letters
by A Bit of the Fantastic
Summary: Whilst training in York, Sybil and Branson exchange letters. Upon her return, will she take a stand with her family when it comes to her marriage life?
1. Chapter 1

The first day in the nursing home was strange to Sybil. The room she shared with two other trainee nurses was sparsely furnished, with only three small, single beds, each with a cabinet, and one wardrobe shared between the three of them. Because it was only their first day, the three girls had no training. They were all expected to unpack, and acquaint themselves with the location that they would be training in.

Branson's words were still swimming through her mind. His declaration, his promise. Sybil hated herself for what she had replied. Her instant defence had been to tell him she was "flattered". He knew as well as she did that "her people" only said that when they wanted to remove unwanted attention from themselves. But the truth was she was scared. She had been weary of her friendship with Branson for quite some time.

At first, when he had spoken out about women's rights, and handed her pamphlets on the political talks, she had been intrigued by him. His promise of how he would not always be a chauffer inspired her, and she respected him. He was forward, sometimes rude, and he never sugar-coated any information. When Sybil asked her father for news of the War, he would change the topic, telling her that it was not suitable for a Lady's ears. And so she would walk to the garage, and sit with Branson, who would tell her everything she wanted to hear. He never lied to her; he never told her things were going better than they were. He told her the cold, honest truth.

Even knowing how passionate he was, she never expected his words as he dropped her at the nursing home.

"_I promise to devote every waking minute to your happiness."_

As she sat on the hard bed in the room, Sybil's thoughts wandered back to that moment. She found that she did not feel hurt by what he said to her, not in the slightest, but she realised her bad feelings were her own guilt. For just standing there, and not speaking. In that single moment, she'd made Branson feel as if she did not care for him. She made him feel as if he were nothing but her father's chauffer. And he was much more than that to her.

He was her best friend.

Sybil found her two new roommates very friendly, and quickly made friends with them. One of the women, Sarah, was a thirty-three year old wife of an officer. She held herself well, and spoke clearly, but without the air of a Lady, and so Sybil assumed that she must have money enough for a decent home and a few servants, but not an estate such as Downton. Giselle was only one year Sybil's senior, unmarried, and a housemaid in a London hotel. Her father was a French aristocrat who had seduced her mother who was working in the hotel whilst he was there on business. He had promised marriage and a comfortable home, but quickly returned to France without leaving an address when he found that the woman was pregnant. Sybil thought it disgusting.

She had not told either of them that she was a Lady, deciding that here, they were equals. It was one of Sybil's goals to see a world where the class barrier would disappear so why should she act any different?

* * *

><p>Her first letter from home arrived after her first week of training. She was exhausted from being on her feet every day, but she loved it. She loved learning, and found her work to be very rewarding. The letter was from her mother, and she knew she should be happy to hear from her family, but she couldn't help but wish the scrawl across the paper wasn't the elegant script of Lady Grantham, but the rough writing of an Irishman.<p>

The week had been hard, but she didn't miss home. She didn't miss her extravagant bed, she didn't miss being cooked for, and she didn't miss being dressed. But she did miss sitting in the garage on an overturned box while Branson told her the news of the war, and laughing in the car on the way to Ripon, while she encourage the revolutionary driver to go faster – to take the back roads and push the car. She missed pulling over in the lane and climbing up front instead of sitting in the back.

Her mother informed her of the goings on in the house. She explained that Edith was learning to drive, and was working as a farmhand to help out, and that Mary was getting serious about her Charity work. She told Sybil of the staff who had gone to war, how everyone was coping.

Sybil quickly penned a reply to her mother in her break simply telling her how busy the work was, but how she was enjoying it. She told her what she had learned, and added at the end that she missed the family too, rather than to leave her felling left out. She signed the letter and put it in her pocket to post tomorrow on her day off.

That night, as Sarah lay reading on her bed, and Giselle spoke in length of her officer sweetheart who she had just received a letter from, Sybil decided she would write to Branson. She needed to apologise for the way she had acted that day, and she needed to explain to him how she felt. She was sick of keeping everything bottled inside of her and letting class and etiquette dictate how she should act and feel. She would send the letter through Anna, who Sybil was sure would be discrete.

Sitting at the only table in the room, Sybil began to write.


	2. Chapter 2

"Branson! Branson, wait!"

The chauffer turned to find Anna running toward him. He had just returned from dropping Lord Grantham at the station for a trip to London, and was walking from the garage to his cottage. When the housemaid had caught up to him, he spoke.

"What is it Anna?"

"A letter came for you, Branson," she explained, handing the spoken item over to him. "It's from Lady Sybil."

Branson's eyes snapped up to Anna's as he took the letter from her. She smiled quickly before running back up to the house. Branson stood for a moment longer, his fingers playing with the envelope that had his name in a gentle script. He pushed the letter into his inside pocket, before hurrying along to his cottage.

Once in his private cottage, he removed the letter from his pocket. His fingers trembled as she broke the seal and removed the letter.

_Dearest Branson,_

_I am sat here at this desk, hardly knowing what to write, but knowing that I must. You see, I feel we may have parted on bad terms. I was not surprised to hear your confession to me, I must admit. I believe it was merely the timing of it that startled me. I want terribly to give you what you wish, and yet I do not know how I may do so._

_I am tired of pretending Branson. I can no longer deny how dear you are to me. I try to imagine what it may be like if you were no longer around for me to talk to or to just sit with. I look forward to any moments we may steal as our own. You are my best friend._

_The work here in York is hard, and the room that I am staying in is nothing like my own at Downton. I share with two other women: Sarah and Giselle. They are lovely people. I confess I do not miss my old life. I rather enjoy having the ability to do things for myself. That day when I made a cake with Mrs Patmore and you were stood there drinking tea and smiling at me. I felt like I had really achieved something then, and here is no different. The hours are long, I am on my feet for nearly fourteen hours a day with hardly any break, but it is rewarding. I love it._

_I fear I shall never get any sleep tonight if I continue to write right now. I do hope Anna passes this along to you, and I eagerly await your reply._

_Yours,_

_Sybil._

Branson smiled softly as he read the words on the page. How she could ever think he might have held a grudge for that day, he did not know, but he was pleased to hear from her. He took a seat at his table, and pulled his own writing equipment from its position. He wanted to write to her now and send it right away, so that it may get to her in the next day or two.

* * *

><p>Giselle had gone to collect their post whilst Sarah and Sybil neatened up the room before the Matron came around.<p>

"Sybil, there's one here for you," Giselle called as she entered the bedroom. "Doesn't look to be the same handwriting that usually comes for you. You got some sweetheart you're hiding from us?" she teased.

"He's hardly a sweetheart," Sybil argued, as she went to retrieve the letter from Giselle, who moved it out of her reach with a grin.

"But it _is _a he!"

"Yes, he is a he, but he is not a sweetheart. Now may I please read my letter?"

Giselle sighed, but handed over the letter anyway. "If he's not a sweetheart," she said, rolling her eyes, "then you can read it to us."

Sybil looked between Giselle and Sarah, both of which had sly smiles on their faces and a twinkle in their eyes. It made Sybil realise that she wouldn't get this at home, or with her "friends" of her class. This was almost childish, but it was fun. Of course, she couldn't read out Branson's letter in case it revealed her class, or what he had said nearly two weeks ago now when he dropped her off.

"I shan't read it out to you," Sybil told her friends. "Not until I've read it to make sure it is suitable. It may contain something private."

Giselle immediately piped up, "I thought you said he wasn't a sweetheart? If he isn't a sweetheart, then surely there can't be anything to hide?" Sarah nodded in agreement.

Sighing, Sybil resigned herself to the torture she would now endure. The only way to stop them asking questions would be to tell them the truth. It wasn't that she thought they would judge her, she knew that they also had some, if only a mild, interest in removing the class division and women's rights. She just didn't want them to think she had actively lied to them.

"I could not tell you the contents of this letter initially because I have kept some things from you," Sybil began. "I am not just an average woman who wanted to become a nurse. I am the daughter of Lord and Lady Grantham, and I had to fight to be allowed to do something other than knit socks. The letter is not from my family, however."

"Wait a minute," Sarah interjected. "You're a Lady, and you never said?"

"I am," replied Sybil. "But I didn't want to be treated differently. I'm doing this because I want to make a difference, and I want to help. I didn't want people to act as if I were Lady Sybil here, because I wanted to be Nurse Crawley."

"But don't you miss all your pretty things?" Giselle asked. "I've seen some fine materials in my time as a maid, and the furniture… why, here is nothing compared to that!"

"I do not miss it, no. I was not lying when I said I believe in equality and women's rights. I don't want to marry someone twice my age who I have no interest in for money and status. I want to marry for love, and to someone who respects me and my views. To a man who will fight with me, who is passionate."

"Sounds like you have someone on your mind when you say that, Sybil," Giselle said with a smile, gesturing to Sybil's hands that were toying with the edge of the envelope. "Is that the one you have on your mind? Your man who isn't a sweetheart?"

Sybil smiled and looked at the letter. She exhaled and moved herself to sit between her two friends.

"About a year before the war began, my father employed a new chauffer. He was Irish, and a socialist. Very political. He believed in the same things I did. He would sneak me off to political meetings without telling my father, and he would give me pamphlets on what I was interested in. He never treated me as if I were too delicate for such things. The same with the war. I would sit in the garage with him for hours at a time, just talking. He became my best friend. When he took me here I hardly wanted to let him leave. I told him it was because he was my last tie with home, and he told me that he wanted me to marry him, if not in those exact words. He swore to devote every waking minute to my happiness. Those were his exact words."

"Wow," breathed Giselle. "That sounds like something right from a book. It's so romantic. What did you say to him?"

"Well before I could say anything he was promising me that even if my family were to cast me off he knew it wouldn't be for long, and that they would soon welcome me back. He promised to make something of himself. He wanted me to choose him, not someone who my family thought I should marry. And then I told him I was _flattered._ And he says, 'Don't say that, it's a word posh people use when they're about to say no'. And that hurt me, because he was right. I was going to say no. So I wrote to him, to apologise for the way I acted. I'm finding he's the only one I miss from home, but I don't understand it. He's a chauffer and I'm a 'Lady'. It can't possibly work, can it?" Sybil looked desperately between Sarah and Giselle.

Her two friends each put an arm around her and leant their heads against hers.

"I think," said Sarah, "that anything is possible, if you want it to be."

"I agree," Giselle added. "I think that if you love him, you should accept him. Why should your family stop you marrying who you love? They'll understand, if they love you. If they don't come around, then maybe you're better off without them."

Sybil smiled at her two friends. "When did you two get so wise?"

"We've always been wise," Sarah told her. "We're like the wise men, but we're women. And there's two of us, not three."

"So really," Sybil laughed. "You're nothing at all like the wise men?"

The three girls laughed together, before walking together to the ward. Branson's letter lay heavily in Sybil's pocket, giving her something to look forward to that evening.


	3. Chapter 3

_Lady Sybil,_

_I am glad to hear you are enjoying your work in York. I must confess, I was surprised when Anna passed me a letter from you. I do not believe we parted on bad terms; I may have been a little sore from being put down but I understand now that I should never have put you in that position. Giving up your family is a hard decision to make, and not one to make in the heat of the moment._

_Know this though: everything I said on that day still stands. I think about you daily. I am striving to make a better career for myself, so that I may someday promise you more than just love. Yes, I did say love. I am not afraid to admit it. I love you. Me a chauffer and you a Lady. It's unheard of, I know, but it's the truth. And I know that somewhere inside you, you love me too._

_I am not sure that it is appropriate for you to contact me in this way, Lady Sybil, but I must say that I do not care! I will look forward to letters from you, should they continue. _

_Yours always,_

_Tom Branson_

Sybil had waited a few days after receiving Tom's letter before writing her reply. She had been taken aback by his outright confession, though she had suspected he felt that way. She found though that she did not know what to say in return. She cared for him, she knew that. She missed him deeply, she knew that also. But did she love him?

The night after she had read his letter she looked up the definition of love in the dictionary, hoping it would help her clear her thoughts. Not that it helped. It simply said "An intense feeling of deep affection".

So she'd asked Giselle and Sarah. They'd told her they believed love to be when one wants to share things with that person. If an event happens, and they think, "Oh, I'd love to tell this person about that." Or when you achieve something, and you can't wait to tell them. You think about them almost all the time, and wonder what they could be doing when they weren't with you. When in their presence you smile a lot. They should be your best friend, and they should respect you. There should be fights, because it shows how passionate you are about one another.

None of their words helped comfort her. They only made her believe that she could be in love with him. But she couldn't help but wonder what her family would say. How would they react to their relationship? Would they cast her away?

It wasn't merely the thoughts of what her family would do if she admitted to being in love with a chauffer, but more whether she cared if they cast her off. That thought scared her more than the idea of loving him.

* * *

><p><em>Dearest Mother,<em>

_I apologise for not writing in such a time, but my nursing duties have had be snowed under! I felt the need to write now, for I have some news for you._

_I have met a man._

_I know you may now be very excited and wish to meet him, but I'm afraid you cannot. You see, you would not approve of him. He is not a Duke, or a Lord, or even a Sir. But I think I am in love with him._

_I do hope that someday you may meet him, and approve of him. _

_Sybil_

Putting the pen down, Sybil sighed. Her hair was down – she never bothered braiding it at night anymore. She pulled her fingers through her hair and reread her letter to her mother. It was short, and she wondered if it sounded harsh, but she couldn't think of any other way to write it. Before she could change her mind, Sybil wrapped the letter in an envelope and sealed it. She put it with Tom's letter to post.

* * *

><p><em>Dearest Tom,<em>

_Do stop calling me 'Lady'! You know as well as I do, that in situations such as this where nobody can read our private letters, nor hear us speak, that I am simply Sybil to you._

_I must apologise for the delay in my reply. I wish I could give you an excuse that my nursing had me overrun, but the truth is I was afraid of what to write. Your confession, though I suspected you felt that way, took me by surprise. I spent the days pondering my own feelings and I must confess that you are correct; I feel the same. By all definitions of the word, I am in love with you, Tom Branson._

_That was one of the hardest things to admit to myself, but not because it meant that I had proved you right, or because my family would disown me. It was because I did not care what they thought. I still do not care what they think and that frightens me. I will break the news softly to them, tell them first that I have met someone, but I am unsure that they will approve. Eventually I will admit to them that I am in love with a chauffer. Then I shall tell them it is you, and that we wish to get married. However, I will wait until I am back at Downton before I confess the last part to you. It would not be fair to leave you to their wrath alone!_

_I must go now, I still have to write to mother and then I have an evening shift._

_All my love,_

_Sybil_

Tom gently folded the letter from Sybil back up and added it to his drawer that contained all her letters. He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. His heart was thumping wildly in his chest. He didn't know what to make of her confession. Tom had waited so long to hear her say those words, that he didn't know whether it was the truth or the fantasies of a young woman. He knew that he had told her that he knew she loved him, but the truth was that the statement was merely hopeful. He reminded himself that she is only young, and that she had only had one season before the war. She was barely 19, and he was 26. He was much older, and more experienced.

But he didn't care. He decided he didn't care at all. He was going to be selfish. He wanted Sybil, he loved Sybil. And he knew how calm and controlled she could be when it was needed – she wouldn't have confessed love to him easily. It would only be real. With a smile and a slight chuckle, Branson returned to cleaning the motor.

He wondered when she would send the letter to her mother, and what her reaction would be. He wondered if Sybil would change her mind, and not tell her mother at all, and decide that the life she wanted didn't include struggling and working with him, but with money and luxury.

He soon banished any thoughts like that when they entered his head. He loved Sybil, and she loved him. He knew that she understood what she would be getting into by marrying him. She knew that she would still work, and that they wouldn't have the fine food and materials that she was used to, and that they wouldn't be able to afford any staff.

Surely she understood all that she'd have to give up?

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes: <strong>I'd just like to say thanks for the interest in this story! I wasn't expecting reviews or the amount of hits that I got! :) Thanks guys!


	4. Chapter 4

Cora Crawley was not a heartless woman. She loved her husband, and although she knew he did not love her when they originally married, she knew that in time he would come to care for her, because he too was not a heartless man. So when she received the news that her youngest daughter had met someone that she cared deeply for, maybe even loved, she had to share the news with her husband.

"Well, who is he?" Robert had asked with a smile on his face.

"She does not say," Cora revealed. "She says that she fears we shall not approve of him."

"Why ever would we not approve of a man who has won dear Sybil's affections?"

Cora paused, before speaking. "She says that he has no status or title."

"Is he a fellow doctor in York?" Robert queried.

"She does not reveal anything other than that she thinks herself to be in love with him, but that he has no status to speak of."

"He must only be an honourable man for Sybil to say such a thing. Perhaps he is an officer that she has treated at the hospital."

Cora smiled. "Whoever he is, I'm sure she will tell us shortly and introduce us. I must write back to her."

Sybil's fingers shook as she held the envelope with her mother's elegant script across the front. She was nervous to find what her mother's opinion was of him. The letter had weighed heavily in her nurse's uniform pocket as she worked her shift. She had fumbled with dressings and almost knocked over a bottle of iodine. The ward sister had snapped at her for her clumsiness and ordered her to get her head back into work. She'd listened, and made sure she made no more mistakes, but her hands still shook.

* * *

><p>Sybil broke the seal of the envelope and unfolded the paper. She took a shaky breath and let her eyes roam over her mother's writing.<p>

_Darling Sybil,_

_I am ecstatic to hear such news! Please, we must have a name of this Gentleman. Where did you meet? Your father and I are sure he must be an honourable man to have gained your affections. You must tell us more about him! Does he work? How old is he? Oh Sybil, it is so good to hear of you finding a man who you may marry!_

_I look forward to hearing from you,_

_Your Mama _

Sybil smiled, glad that her mother did not seem too affected by the news that her beau had no status. She ignored the voice in her head that told her that she knew her parents would not be so supportive when they found that he was their very own chauffer! She quickly penned a reply to both her mother and Branson with a smile on her face.

* * *

><p>Branson smiled when Anna dropped the latest letter into his hand. Sybil had been sending his letters through Anna, writing a simple 'T' in the corner of the envelope. Since Sybil had told him of her parents' reaction to her news, he had felt light headed and happy. She would only have told them if she felt she were serious about him, and the fact that her parents had not instantly disapproved gave him hope that, in time, they would not object to him marrying their youngest daughter.<p>

_Dearest Tom,_

_The day that we shall meet again draws ever near, and I find myself shaking with excitement. I long to see your smile, hear your voice, and have our daily debates! I hope you miss me as much as I miss you. I cannot write for long – my last week here is the busiest yet._

_Until Friday, my love,_

_Sybil._

Friday. Oh how Branson longed for that day. He longed to hold her hand, even if only to help her into the back of the motor. He wanted to smile at her, and have her smile back.

Friday couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

><p>Cora had exchanged many letters with her daughter since she had left for her nurses training, and each and every one had at least one mention of the man she had given her heart to. She spoke of their shared interest in politics, and women's rights, and how he would challenge her, and allow her to have views and argue with him on them.<p>

At first, Robert and Cora had been worried that the man encouraged Sybil's ideas of politics and arguments and rebellion, but after thought they had agreed that their feisty child was better suited to someone who could stoke the fire in her than someone who would lock her away in a gilded cage. And so they had congratulated her on finding someone who matched her perfectly.

Despite all of Sybil's talking of her love, she was careful not to mention his station or even his name. She had given them a first name – Tom – but had not given a family name. Robert was frustrated, believing that he should be able to look into the man who it seemed his daughter would eventually marry, but Cora assured him that when Sybil was ready, she would tell them.

Tomorrow her youngest would be returning from her training, and Cora had all of the servants preparing the house for her. She knew from their letters that Sybil had grown more independent, and although she didn't fully approve, she understood that Sybil would not want a Lady's maid first thing in the morning, nor would she want a fuss made of her return. It was with this knowledge, that Cora arranged for Mrs. Patmore to prepare a simple meal that Sybil would enjoy, and she told Anna to arrange Sybil's room in such a way that she would not require help in the morning.

Cora sighed with a smile upon her face. Her youngest may be feisty and rebellious, but she was still her daughter, and if she wanted to be an independent woman and marry a man beneath her station, then Cora would heartily approve. Maybe it was the American in her.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Apologies for the late update, and short chapter! I've been really busy with deadlines at college, and then I was ill... excuses, excuses I know, but I can't help it! Sorry!


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